


Just a Uniform

by bactaqueen



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is a dick but keeps the uniform on anyway and gets over being a dick long enough to realize it’s not just about being Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Uniform

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.

Steve looked himself over one last time in the mirror over the dresser before he stepped out of the bedroom. He shifted the weight of the heater shield on his arm, adjusting the straps. It was strange and familiar all at once to be back in the original uniform, to see his apartment through the goggles, to feel the pressure of the leather mask across his face and the bite of the strap under his chin. The helmet was heavier than he remembered, but he supposed that was possibly because the headgear for his modern uniform was much lighter. He flexed his hands inside the gloves and shifted his weight, testing the feel of the shoes.

He knew he couldn't avoid looking at her forever.

She hadn't seen him in uniform, not in person, and never the old one. He'd been very careful about it. The last thing he wanted to be was Captain America to her. He knew she knew who he was, he knew she knew what he did, but he wanted just one part of his life that wasn't consumed by the costume. Then she'd asked. And what was he supposed to say? Steve steeled himself and raised his head.

She sat on the couch, half-turned to face the bedroom door, and she was looking at him. Of course she was, what else had he expected? He saw what he knew he'd see in her face: her darkened eyes, the rising color on her cheeks. She clasped her hands in her lap and pressed her thighs tight together, and her eyes swept over him from helmet to field service shoe and back.

His heart sank a little. He flexed his fingers around the shield's strap. He felt his mouth firm into a thin line. He didn't want to be disappointed in her, but he couldn't help it.

She was just like the rest of them.

"Oh," she said, to fill the silence between them.

He looked down at the shield just so he didn't have to look at her anymore. "Tony had some specialists put it back together for me for the D-Day event in DC next month. It didn't look this good when I came out of the ice." He wanted out of it. The collar of the sweater was too tight and the mask pressed in, bruising and suffocating. He was home, he was off duty, he didn't want to be the symbol. He drew his shoulders up and looked at her again. "You satisfied? Can I take it off?" He heard the hard edge in his voice and winced.

He'd never spoken to her like that.

He'd never had a reason.

"Thank you, Steve," she said. Her voice was small in that way it always got when he'd done something wrong and she didn't want to fight him on it.

He bit back a sigh. He was being unfair. They'd gone together for six months so far, between calls to assemble and international crises. She'd always been there for him when he returned, sore and tired and aching for something mundane and private. How many times had she canceled appointments just to show up at his door with takeout from the greasy spoon on the corner? How many times had he fallen asleep beside her and woken up six hours later to find she'd stayed, pressed to his side and reading even though she hadn't slept? Before the quiet request to see him in the uniform--and not even the new one, but the old one, the one that had made him who he was--she hadn't asked him for anything.

He was trying to work out a delicate way to suggest what he knew she wanted when he blurted, "You want to fuck." He didn't even have the decency to make it a question. It was an accusation, an indictment. He winced again.

Color spotted high on her cheeks and splotched her neck. She looked down at her hands in her lap and shook her head. "No," she said, and it was a lie. She'd never lied to him. She took a deep breath--he was familiar enough with how she looked when she was collecting herself. "I'm sorry," she went on, raising her head again. She met his eyes. She really was sorry, and not even just sorry to have been caught. "I shouldn't have asked. Go on." She nodded toward the bedroom behind him. "Go change. I'll go get dinner. Did you want to watch _Rebecca_ or should I pick something up on the way back?" She rose smoothly and stood facing him, and though she'd drawn herself up to her full height--she was still nearly a foot shorter than he was--she still picked at the hem of her skirt, a nervous tell he'd learned early on.

She was offering him the same small kindnesses she always did. Something tight loosened in his chest. He knew he wasn't easy. He knew she knew that. They didn't belong together, but Steve didn't think he'd ever get that feeling again. The best he could hope for was trying. Trying like she did, and taking the moments he could.

"It's all right," he said, as gently as he could manage. "We can..." He gestured toward the bedroom.

She looked right through him, considering. He knew she heard what he wasn't saying and saw more than he wanted her to see--it was her specialty, and most of the time he appreciated that she didn't need him to spell it out. When she started for him, across the living room, he took half a step back and brought the shield up, instinct driving him into a defensive posture. She paused and frowned at him.

He really was fucked up. She was just a woman, and these were just clothes. He forced himself to drop the shield and wait.

She moved again, slower this time, and didn't stop until she was standing so close he could feel the brush of her body against the front of his. She laid her hand over the star on his chest and looked up, searching his eyes through the goggles and his face around the mask.

"You get it, don't you? The appeal?"

"Sure," he agreed, lying straight to her face. He didn't understand it at all. It was just a uniform.

She pursed her lips. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She reached up, curved her hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down.

Grateful for the break in conversation, he went. He laid a hand on her waist and kissed her like he hadn't before, like he wasn't real and neither was she. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? She wanted the science experiment, or the athlete, or the dog tags. She didn't want the man.

She wanted the idea of the hero.

He could shut himself off. He'd learned to do that pretty well so far.

She broke the kiss and leaned away from him. "Steve."

"It's all right." His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be. He squeezed her side gently, even though he couldn't feel even the heat of her through the heavy glove. What difference did it make? It wasn't about him. It was never about him. "It's what you want, right?" And because he couldn't help the small cruelty, he added, "To fuck Captain America?"

Hurt and shame passed through her eyes. "That's not it at all," she murmured.

"No? Then what is it?"

She met his eyes through the goggles. Hers were level and unflinching. "It's you." A small, mysterious smile played at the corners of her lips. "I just want you a little bit differently this time." Her fingers moved from the back of his neck to the side of his face.

He didn't let himself turn into her touch and kiss her palm. Not until he understood what she was trying to say.

"I could go for some beard burn," she said mildly, half a tease.

He scoffed, but this was familiar territory. It was one of the few things he knew, one of the things about her that he trusted. She loved the way his stubble scratched up her neck and her breasts and her inner thighs. He'd commented on it after their first night together, apologized for not shaving, and he'd watched her fingers stroke over the angry red raw skin and he'd watched her smile.

"I like it," she'd said, and the way she'd looked at him had cut straight through him.

"You know you're the only reason I don't shave on my days off." It drove him nuts at first, having the scruff whenever he ran his hand over his face.

She gave him a private smile. "I appreciate that." She stroked her fingers over his cheek and the line of his jaw. She winked. "I like scruffy Steve."

His lips twitched. He wanted to smile, but he still wasn't sure what was going on between them or what she was angling for. So he said, "Should I leave the mask on?"

"Is it waterproof? That might be nice for you. You always get your eyelashes wet."

She was teasing him, playful and lewd without any of the vulgarity. Heat coiled inside him and he was suddenly sorry for the way he'd spoken to her. She didn't deserve it.

He slid his hand from her waist to the center of her back and hauled her close. He couldn't do anything about the shield yet, so he held her one-armed. "If you take off the helmet, you can hold my hair. You know how I need a firm hand to guide me."

The smile she gave him as she laughed made his heart stutter. She unfastened the strap under his chin and knocked the helmet off. It clattered to the floor beside them while she was running her fingers through his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp.

"Oh, this is nice." She tugged a little, bringing him closer.

He turned his face to kiss the inside of her bare arm. "I'm sorry--"

"Don't." She pressed closer, fitting his thigh between hers and pressing her hip to his groin. She ground down on him just a little, just enough to let him know. Her eyes were bright and the smile on her lips was all playful, gentle teasing. "There's nothing wrong with a little dress-up in the bedroom, you know."

He kissed her for that.

"What are you going to wear for me?" he murmured against her mouth.

Her knees gave out; she swayed into him and he caught her, enjoying the weight of her against him, enjoying the way her thighs tightened around his and the way her hip shifted against his growing erection. She rubbed herself against his thigh and he thought of what he'd find when he got her into bed.

"What do you want me to wear?"

He thought of lingerie, of lace and silk, of nylons and garters and all the things he hadn't seen on a woman in sixty years. He thought of short dresses and impossible shoes and nothing but red lipstick and the marks left by his mouth on her thighs.

He kissed her fiercely.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and pushed herself up on tiptoes, rubbing against him as she lifted, as she pulled him down. "Whatever you want," she breathed against his lips before she kissed him. She licked into his mouth and slid her hand from his chest up, up, to stroke her thumb along his jaw and cup her hand around his neck.

The promise of her doing for him made him want to do for her in a way he hadn't ever wanted before. He scooped her up one-armed, showing off and he knew it but the little cry of surprise and the way she wrapped herself around him quelled his guilt. She dropped her head back and laughed. He pressed hot kisses to her throat, smiling.

In the bedroom, he shook the shield off his arm before he dropped her on the bed. She laughed as she bounced and he loved it, loved how free she was and how his missteps hadn't diminished her joy. He hit his knees on the rug beside the bed. She leaned forward to comb her fingers through his hair and to kiss his face, his mouth, as he worked open the tiny buttons on the front of her shirtdress. He fumbled with the knot in the sash when he got there. She laughed at him again.

"Need some help?"

"I can figure out a damned knot," he grunted.

She cupped his face in both of her hands and pulled him up into another kiss.

He planted his hands in the bed and leaned into the kiss, licking over her lip and into her mouth, to stroke at her tongue with his. He nipped at her lips as he pulled away and shivered at the way her sigh felt against his mouth. Then he had his hands between them again, and he finally got the sash open and the last of the buttons undone.

He spread open her dress, glad for the unseasonable warmth. He didn't like anything in the new world as much as he liked the skimpy underthings modern women favored. As he ran his gloved hands from her knees all the way to her breasts, he sucked gently at her neck.

She sighed, back arching, chest thrust forward. He slipped his fingers into the cups of her bra and lifted out her breasts. They were small enough they fit entirely into his hands, and as he palmed her nipples, he wished he could feel them through the gloves.

She bowed her head over his and licked the shell of his ear and sighed his name. He smiled against her skin. He was doing something right, then. He cupped her breasts, fit them neatly into his palms and rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, and then he ducked his head. While she raked her fingers through his hair, he sucked at her nipples, dusky pink and peaked. He bit them and licked them and rubbed his face against her until her skin was red and angry.

With a sigh, she fell back.

He let her go. He ran his hands down her belly and tucked his fingers into her panties. She let him peel them down her legs. He was almost sorry to see them go; he liked the way wet white cotton molded to her sex. But as soon as he dropped them, she spread her legs and tugged his hair, and he laughed at her.

"You meant it."

She wriggled closer to the edge of the bed, her thighs spread wide. She was wet already, slick and shiny and open and wanting. Her fingers skimmed his cheek, tips catching the bristles there, and she sighed again. "I always mean it, Steve."

He knew that now, he thought, as he lowered his head and rubbed his cheek up her inner thigh. She trembled. Her fingers twisted in his hair and she didn't wait for him to do it and she didn't ask, she just draped her knees over his shoulders and pressed her thighs to the side of his head. He should never have doubted her. She pulled him closer, lifted her hips, and he didn't think for a long time.

It was cumbersome with the gloves to hold her open the way she liked, to draw aside the soft slick lips of her cunt and bare her clitoris. But she kept running her fingers through his hair and sighing his name like a prayer. When he licked her just right, her body bowed. Her thighs tightened around his head and her fingers tightened in his hair and he lost himself in her wet heat, in the taste of her and the way her body--the way she--responded to him, like it was the first time he'd ever touched her.

She chanted his name and called out for God when she came.

He slid up her body, into her waiting arms. She kissed him until they were both breathless, and then she kissed his mouth and his chin and his cheeks, everywhere he wore her. Her fingers moved from his hair to the buckle holding the mask in place. It fell away and she smiled up at him, her clear eyes sparkling.

"Look at that. Your eyelashes aren't wet this time."

He laughed at her and pressed his face to her neck.

She was so warm and so soft and so willing beneath him. They shifted and squirmed until they were both on the bed, and he should have cared about his shoes but he didn't, because she was reaching for one of his hands. He braced himself over her and watched as she pulled the glove off. The brush of her thumb over his palm shouldn't have made him shiver but it did. She tossed the glove away and he touched her face with his bare hand, touched her cheek and then her mouth. He slid his thumb over her swollen lower lip. She opened her mouth and sucked it in, briefly, laving her tongue over the calloused pad of his thumb. His breath caught. Her eyes fluttered shut and he let her suck his thumb like it was another part of him. He groaned when she released it with a wet pop.

He tucked his hand under her head, bracing himself then on his knuckles, and he let her peel off the second glove. He couldn't think when she lipped at his fingertips like that, when she pursed her lips and sucked his thumb and swirled her tongue around the tip, when she looked up at him with those bright hot eyes like she knew what he was thinking. He pressed his thumb to her chin, opening her mouth, and he kissed her again.

She started working open the buttons of his jacket. She got all the way down the front before she lifted her hands again and pushed at his shoulders. He came up for air only to feel her gasp against his mouth, and when he looked, her lips were wet and the skin around them was red. She looked up at him like she was hungry.

"Off." She pushed at his shoulders again, her hands inside the jacket, over the sweater.

He shifted up, balancing on her knees between hers to peel off the jacket. He looked down at her, at her dress spread open and her breasts free of her bra and her inner thighs scratched up and her cunt--God, her cunt. He stripped the jacket off and threw it aside. He reached for the bottom edge of the sweater and her hands were there, pushing under it, her fingers hot on his skin. He yanked it off and she scraped her nails over his lower belly before she reached for his belt and fumbled with the buckle.

His brain shorted out when she got his pants open and plunged her hands inside. She stroked his cock, cupped his balls, teased and fondled and was just about ready to sit up--he knew, he saw the way her belly bunched, saw the way her weight shifted--when he folded back the fly of his pants and leaned down over her. He kissed her and she let him, her fist tight around his cock, still stroking. He shifted his hips. She lifted hers, guided the tip of his prick against her. They didn't breathe together as he slid into her.

He bottomed out. She wrapped her legs around him and tried to pull him closer, tried to pull him deeper. It didn't matter that he was still wearing his pants, his leggings, and his shoes, because she was so hot, so soft. Her lips went to his ear and she begged him--"Please, Steve, please." He held the back of her head and pressed his face to her hair and he moved, pounding into her hard enough to shake the bed. He didn't hear the squeaking of the mattress springs over the way she whimpered and cried out. Her nails raked down his back, spurring him on, and she clamped tight around him. She stifled herself with her hot open mouth against his throat.

It was over too soon. He shoved in deep and came hard, feeling lit up from the inside. He collapsed over her, exhausted and wrung out. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back. When he shifted just a little, to pull out of her and move off of her, she clenched tight around him.

"Wait," she whispered.

He groaned softly.

She laughed, and he felt it all the way through her. Her hands came up to frame his face, to pull him over her again. He blinked down at her.

Her face was flushed and her eyes were bright. She kissed the edges of his mouth and the center of his lower lip. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she murmured.

His fingers on the back of her head twitched. He pulled her into another kiss, slow and deep and hot and wet, and he rolled his hips against hers just to feel her little gasp against his mouth.

"How about you wear the uniform next time?"

She tossed her head back and wrapped her arms tight around him and she laughed.


End file.
